


Lucky Charm

by audreyslove



Series: OQ Happy Endings Week [5]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-14
Updated: 2018-07-14
Packaged: 2019-06-10 04:29:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15283668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/audreyslove/pseuds/audreyslove





	Lucky Charm

She hates St. Patrick's Day.

She hates it every year, as every good bar owner should. The customers are loud and drunk, puking up green beer and are either peeing in the alleys or all over her toilet seats. They get into fights, are entirely incoherent, and what's worse is she suffers all of this while only being a quick stop for the crowds wandering from the Irish bar three blocks south to the Irish bar two blocks north. Just a go between.

Roni's is a dive bar, and decidedly  _not_ Irish. She fucking hates Irish bars, with their lame manufactured throwbacks to the Old Country, the same five overrated beers on tap, the Irish flags and Boston accents that always seem to flow through those bars… god damned bagpipes on recording… _ugh_. Her bar will never serve green beer and play shitty music, will never acknowledge that damned holiday at all.

So on St. Patrick's Day people come in and warm up, have a drink or two on special, and then they teeter off into the night, in search of another bar with an  _O'_ in front of its name.

Every other year, suffering through this day is an inconvenience, and that's all. Her bar does well on average nights, well enough, that losing the regulars stings but does not bite too hard. They are always back to her the day after St. Patrick's day, nursing a hangover with her Bloody Mary's and promising her that they will never participate in another St. Patrick's day… until the next year rolls around and they fall for the same girls in tight green clothes and watered down drink specials.

This year, however, is especially awful, and it is all because of Mac.

Ten months ago the idiot moved in the little row house next to hers, with sparkling blue eyes and a flirtatious smile that instantly grabbed her attention when she saw him for the first time, walking to his mailbox just as she has reached her own.

And oh, how he came on to her. Not with lame lines or false flattery, but with his quick wit and dry sense of humor. Of course he used those deep blue eyes and that dimpled smile to soften her up, throw her off her guard, til she was a gooey mess on the inside.

He was just telling her how fortunate he was to have such a  _beautiful view,_ the implication obvious when he looked her up and down (Roni had to roll her eyes, she does, but her insides heat at the way he stares at her) … when  _she_ came over.

That bitch… this raven haired blue eyed cunt, just sidled up behind him, hugged him from behind, and he gave Roni that  _hand-caught-in-the-cookie-jar_ look.

"McAllister, come back to  _beddd,_ " she had whined.

For fucks sake he had just moved in last  _week,_ from New York City. And he moved in  _alone,_ as far as she can remember.

And he was excusing himself, looking truly apologetic as he left.

Roni hates him for making her for fall for him for even a moment. For thinking for even a few seconds that she didn't have to be perpetually single.

But he's just a player, looking for a new one night stand, too idiotic to not realize you  _never_ shit where you eat.  You don't try to screw over your neighbors.  You don't screw them at all.

Roni hates that even for a second she fell for another assholes lines. Even if he doesn't know she had taken the bait,  _she_ knows.

And it eats at her.

It was just her fucking luck when she discovered he was renting the place two doors down the street.

Years ago a little all-night diner went out of business, and that lot had remained blissfully vacant ever since. But this man swoops in, and what does he do?

He turns the space into a god damned bar. Not just any bar, mind you.

A god damned Irish Bar.

The Green Man is a  _rowdy_ bar, and tends to attract graduate students and more wealthy businessmen looking to reclaim their youth. That's not exactly Roni's clientele. She's a server to the hard working, blue collar heroes of this neighborhood. So normally they don't compete too much, the Green Man and Roni's.

Except lately. Starting the first weekend in March when he rolled out with these… ridiculous drink specials that go through St. Patrick's Day. The week of St. Patrick's day things get even  _more ridiculous._ He gets the permit to put up this tent out back (eats away at most of his parking lot space, the imbecile), and a narrow covered tent in front. The fucking noise of bagpipes and woo girls and stink from those frat boys, businessmen and his shitty lager carries into her bar.

And what really eats her up inside is she has a small parking lot, just a dozen or so cars. The sign  _clearly_ says FOR CUSTOMERS OF RONI'S BAR AND GRILL ONLY, but you wouldn't know it, because it's packed to the brim today with cars - some of which she recognizes whose owners are  _definitely_ not at her bar. And there's the people scurrying from her parking lot to that blasted bar making things even more obvious.

She's only a handful of customers, so she asks Alice, the part-time server/bartender, to handle things for a bit while she deals with this situation.

She's about to stop one of the fast moving freeloaders to tell them to move their car out of her lot before a tow truck moves it  _for_ them, when she catches something far more infuriating. An employee of the Green Man, wearing one of those ridiculous bright green polo shirts, is leaning over a car, saying something…

And then the son of a bitch points to  _her_ parking lot, and she just about  _loses_ it.

She stalks towards the bar, towards its infuriating sign with the god damned arrow piercing through an apple (what the fuck  _is_ that, anyway?). She's flushed either from the wind of the cool night air or the anger burning inside her... or both, really.

It's already asses-to-elbows under the patio tent (for fucks sake it's 8 PM, these morons won't make it til midnight at this rate), she has to shove by plenty of idiots before she gets inside, where it's less crowded, more typical for an early night in a bar.

And then she sees him, laughing and drinking with his customers, like he hasn't a care in the world.

"MCALLISTER." Her voice is raised and snarling, breath already heavy from the adrenaline coursing through her.

"Shit, she full-named ya," Leon says from his stool. And  _fuck_ Leon, he's gonna be back at her bar tomorrow with a sheepish smile and some crumpled bills, fuck him for thinking he has the right to say a word to her.

"Roni! Nice of you to join us!" Mac calls out, ignoring the hostility in your voice. "Hope they didn't charge you the cover, I—"

"Please your doorman knows better than to even try with me," she waves off. "Your  _customers,_ however, seem to be under the impression that since you've eaten up half  _your_ parking lot with some tacky tent, my lot is up for free parking."

He smiles, takes a sip of beer and shrugs. That poster behind him of that crown is angled as such that it almost loos like an ironically placed halo. "Oops? Sorry bout that, I can't really control this crowd—"

"Oh bullshit. I caught your server  _directing_ people to my lot," she huffs, wagging a finger accusatorily, and he winces, knowing he's been caught. "Those idiots aren't going to be happy when their cars are towed."

She glares at Rogers, who's cowering on the end of the bar, a hand up over his face.

"Of course, towing a  _police car_ might be interesting, officer. What would they say down at the station?"

"Oh come on, love, it's not like you have any customers of your own tonight," he defends.

And then the crowd  _laughs,_ laughs at her misfortune, laughs at the fact this new bar and this smug bartender have bested her, and she is going to fucking kill every single one of them and burn this bar to the ground.

"Remember that you said that next week when you ask me to put more drinks on your tab," she warns Rogers, "because frankly right now there's one customer I wish I  _didn't_ have."

"And what are you going to do about it?" Rogers asks, "Because from where I'm sitting you're desperate for  _anyone—"_

"Hey, hey, that's enough," Mac says, walking towards her with a pint in hand. "Stay a bit, have some drinks on the house. I'm sorry about the parking problem. I'm going to talk to Danny and tell him not to direct anymore people to your lot. Maybe direct them to the dance studio lot… they are closed right?"

"Victoria owns the place," Roni warns, "they'll be towed right away."

"Ya need a ticket before you can tow," Rogers reminds, sipping his beer. "I feel we may not be up for ticketing tonight. Ticketing  _anyone_."

Well, good to know justice is working on whiskey tonight and her customers will be searching for on street parking.

But Victoria will get everyone towed. Rogers may stand up to Victoria but plenty of other cops will cower.

"Victoria won't notice. Went up to Vancouver for the weekend," Weaver speaks up, "she won't be a problem. And I just so happen to have a key that unlocks that chain she has put around the entrance to the lot after hours."

He winks at her, finishes the rest of his pint, and walks towards the exit, calling out, "just remember, you two owe me a favor."

Roni rolls her eyes, as she watches him leave.

When she turns back Mac, he's dangling that pint in her face, apologetic smile bringing out those dimples, and it's  _unfair._

"I believe I owe you a drink," he says, "for your troubles at least?"

She rolls her eyes.

"I don't drink that swill," she mutters, and then when he protests that Smithwick is  _not_ swill, she adds, "or any beer, for that matter."

"Ah," he says, "whiskey girl, I remember. You have  _quite_ the extensive knowledge."

She rolls her eyes. Yes she did show him that she has  _quite_  the extensive knowledge when they both showed up at the same liquor vendors and fought over that bottle of Glenlivet.

Mac, the bastard, won that battle.

"And how do you feel about bourbon?" he asks.

She scoffs. "The way anyone with taste feels about bourbon; it's delicious," she says, "and I've got plenty of it at  _my_ bar. So if you'll just get your customers out of my parking lot, I'll be on my way."

"Mm, you do have some nice bourbon," he drawls, "but you don't have  _this."_ He nods over in the direction of his bar, and reaches a hand out toward her.

"Come on, you're curious, I know you are." And then he winks at her and heads towards his office.

"Don't you have a bar full of customers to attend to?" she asks, but she's following him can't seem to resist doing so...

"I do. They are in the capable hands of my hardworking employees," he assures, holding open the door for her.

When the door shuts, it's nearly blissfully quiet, the infernal Irish music muffled behind hard oak.

There's more to like about this place besides the silence. It's… rather tasteful. There's a burgundy leather couch and a cherry wood coffee table arranged in front of a large desk.

She likes this office. It's comfortable, yet professional.

She sits down on the couch and raises an eyebrow. "So was this just a ploy to get me into your office, or do you actually have something interesting for me to try?" She asks, watching him swallow heavy at her words, knowing there's an innuendo somewhere he's picked up on.

"I have a  _lot_ of things I'd like for you to try," he gives her back, "but this whiskey is particularly nice."

It's a bottle of George T Stagg, rare, but no Pappy Van Winkle, but a good bourbon nonetheless. He pours a small glass into a chilled snifter and hands it to her.

"It's a good batch. Almost as rich and complicated as the woman that drinks from it," he smirks.

"If only your lines went down as smoothly as this bourbon," Roni says wryly. She'd put the snifter down and leave now, but it is  _quite_ good bourbon and she's not going to miss out on savoring it just because the man in front of her is being an ass.

He sighs and takes a seat on the leather armchair situation next to the sofa. "Roni, why do you hate me? We seemed to be getting off to such a good start."

She rolls her eyes and takes another sip of whiskey, let's the smokey, strong liquid roll on her tongue, igniting all her tastebuds before she swallows, enjoying the way it burns her throat.

"You're not nearly as charming as you think you are, you know." she drawls.

"We've established that," Mac agrees playfully. "What about me has you disliking me so much?"

"Men like you annoy me," she says, handing her glass towards Mac as he gives her a second pour. He seems entirely unbothered by her words, and  _that_ annoys her further. "You think you are god's gift to women. I watch you flirt with them to get a lower sale price on liquor, an extra few days on rent, for fucks sake to cut in line at the post office. And I get it, you've got a few nice lines and you're just good looking enough to be alluring to some. But I'm not one of the bimbos you fly through, Mac. I'm a bit more complicated than that, and you… I just find you boring."

"You think I'm good looking?" he asks

She snorts.

" _That_ is what you get out of all of that? God this is exactly why I don't like you. You're so damn full of yourself it's insufferable, you try your lines on the whole town, have probably slept your way through—"

"I've slept with one woman since I came to town. Horrible mistake." Mac says, offering her another pour. She's stunned into silence (doesn't quite believe it), so just nods. "Do you know why I moved to town?"

Roni shrugs. "You've never shared that with me, no. But spare me the sob story, I'm not going to buy it."

He stands up and lifts a picture frame that she hadn't noticed was on the bookshelf.

A younger version of him, smiling at a lovely bride, a joyful crowd in the background.

"Ten years we were married. And then one day she just left. Ran off with my best friend. Gave me lovely Dear John letter, turns out she loved me too much to say goodbye, if you could believe it."

He speaks with a sincerity she's not used to hearing in his voice. This could all be some lie, some line to make her feel things for him, but if it's a lie it's certainly a well-crafted one.

"After something like that… everyone pities you. And I had to walk around my small town like a shamed man. With every woman and man asking me…"

He screws his face, tilts his head and does a quick little impression "'How ya holding up? Is there anything I can do?' It's… pathetic, really. So I sold my house, cashed out a large chunk of my 401k and started over. New town, new identity. People don't feel sorry for me here. I can pretend to be someone who isn't an emotional train wreck." He shrugs, stands up and rubs his hand through his hair. He looks… awkward and uncomfortable. He begins pacing, and it's such a different side than she normally sees him. "Now  _that_ night, the woman you saw, Andrea… that wasn't about moving on, or being healthy. That was my best mate's girl. Or ex-girl, and ex-mate, seeing as he took off with my wife."

He chuckles darkly. "Maria always said that Andrea had a crush on me. I found her annoying, but I was also angry, and some part of me thought if we just did it… it would be some sort of revenge. So she came to help me move in, it happened."

He downs the rest of his glass and pours again (god they are going to be finished with half the bottle at this point).

"Didn't work. Just made me feel more like shit because i brought her into it. I woke up rather melancholy and full of regret. And then I met you, and… well trust me I  _really_ regretted things after that. So that's my story. I'm not some charming, confident ass, I'm a wounded, heartbroken ass. What about you?"

She laughs, shaking her head, and then apologizes. "I'm sorry. I had no idea."

"Of course not," Mac says, "And it's not your fault. But I'm done sharing for now. And I don't need your pity, I've got a whole town of pity I left on that. I just wanted you to understand. So, what about you then? What's your story?"

She shrugs. "What makes you think I have a story?"

"Everyone has a story. And I doubt a woman as beautiful as you could have been alone for long," he says with a shrug.

"I don't really date," Roni gives, taking another delightful sip of bourbon. "You kind of stop trying after life keeps kicking you in the teeth, you know?"

He nods carefully, doesn't say a word, as if he's frightened to scare her off. But his approach works, has her comfortable telling more of her story.

She goes for blunt and immediate, gets to the point in just one swoop. "Mine didn't leave me. He died."

"Jesus I'm sorry," Mac breathes, "truly, I didn't mean to—"

"And the one before him died too," Roni admits, raising an eyebrow, waiting for him to make a fast exit. She's a bit of a black widow, isn't she? "Loved two people in my life. They both died. So now I love my bar. It's my home, it's my pride, my hard work, blood, sweat and tears, and most importantly, it can't die on me."

He chuckles at that, and she  _likes_ that, likes that he can still see the humor in things, that he's not rushing to make her feel better or assure her she can love again.

"Men are boring anyway," she says flippantly, "I really don't have time for the bullshit that comes with dating or trying to find someone. It's exhausting."

"Absolutely. Down with love," Mack says, raising his glass in the air in a toast. She laughs, clinks her glass with his, and feels… settled. She hasn't eaten all day, and that's a problem. Because, her belly is warm with expensive bourbon that is making her head feel lighter and her body feel tingly. And good whiskey always has her losing control of her mouth.

"Were you coming on to me that day we met?" She asks, looking at him amused. "When this alleged Andrea was lying in your bed, were you  _flirting_ with me?"

He turns red, and it's a bit adorable. "Not at first, no," he says, and she can't tell whether it's a lie. "I just wanted to know my new neighbor. But then talking to you was just natural, you know? And you were so…. You'll probably punch me for saying this. So  _adorable,_ I forgot my head for a second. I really liked you. Just a few moments talking and I felt more myself than I had in almost a year, if you'll believe it."

"You know how it looked when she came out to join us," Roni reminds him, "It looked like you were a man who just got his dinner already planning his next meal."

He winces. "I worried you might have thought that," he admits, scratching the back of his head, "the reality was I had a terrible drunken night and a lovely, caring woman made my morning. You made me forget that I was a miserable ass. Of course, Andrea reminded me…." he shudders. " _that_ wasn't a moment I like to repeat."

"Mmm," Roni hums, unable to keep from smiling, because everything is just so  _funny_ all the sudden, "not your finest moment. It's a shame," her half smile turns into a full grown grin, "I thought you were pretty cute too, for a moment. Until she walked in and shattered the fantasy."

Mac puts his head in his his hands and groans into his lap. He looks so adorable like this, all stripped of his false confidence and delightfully vulnerable. "And now I regret that night even more," he sighs, "you know I've been into you since the moment i laid eyes on you, don't you? And you've hated me, but I—"

"I don't  _hate_ you," Roni corrects, "you  _annoy_ me. You're always around, everywhere I go, reminding me how funny you are and good look and nice you smell…"

She trails off, realizing how it sounds. She can feel herself blushing, and god  _that_ is even more humiliating, no, no… she tries to own it, putting on a look that is almost  _too_ nonchalant adding, "and all those qualities are such a waste on you. Because you're a horrible flirt and you have a terrible sense of humor. So i'm afraid I can only imagine what that nice body and cute dimples would look like on a man that—  _mm_!"

He crashes his lips into her, and it's welcome, and warm and so shockingly familiar. They become tangled in one another, kissing frantically, chasing some feeling, an understanding that is just out of their grasp.

She rips herself from him when she needs air, panting and sweating and feeling absolutely pathetic (her hand holds a fistful of his ass, when the hell did  _that_ happen?

She just looks at him, at how he's just affected as she is, and then he moves back infinitesimally and asks, "I'm sorry, that was presumptuous of me, I—"

He needs to shut up, so she silences him in a way that she finds rather pleasant. This second kiss is all hers to give, all fire and passion as she fists at his shirt and pulls him towards her.

She doesn't do love (not anymore, she is toxic and burns everything she touches) but she can do  _this,_ she can have surprisingly intimate kisses with the man she realizes she never actually hated, with the man she's been quietly pining for since the moment they met.

This is different. It's not like the random nights with strangers she's been known to partake in, this is  _real,_ this has  _feeling,_ and she has no idea why but she finds she doesn't want to give it up anytime soon.

They can have this for now (for many times to come, it feels too good to be the only time).

She can forget all the reasons that she doesn't partake in  _this_ with men she cares about, can worry about his life later. Right now she just needs him.

Right now it is just  _them._


End file.
